


f o r b a n n e l s e

by samanthalo



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthalo/pseuds/samanthalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're either born with it, or cursed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	f o r b a n n e l s e

 

The fishermen knew something was amiss when the ship drifted into the rocks of the harbor, a slow voyage they watched from the docks over the course of the darkening evening. They had seen the tattered sails long before the tide washed it into the inlet. They looked at each other over their nets and shrugged. It wasn't a surprise to see such a ship here. Their little village tucked into the side of the mountainous coast was one of the last havens before the open sea. Maybe they needed some supplies. Maybe they were lost. They continued to ignore the ship and go about their work until the lighthouse keeper shouted from his post that they weren't stopping to anchor.

The fishermen took up their lanterns and waved frantically on the piers as the water drew the ship towards the rocky beach. They banged harpoons onto the wooden posts, creating any kind of racket they could, voices growing hoarse as they tried in vain to gain the attention of the captain or crew. A chill ran through the awaiting group as the sound of wood scraping against rock bubbled up through the still waters.

The hull split as it broke upon the beach and the vessel tipped slightly as it came to rest with a lingering groan. The fishermen approached with care. A thin man with dripping dark hair and a bloody white glove was hanging between the ship's railing. His skin was pale and he did not move when one of the men threw a pebble, hitting him directly on the head.

“This bodes ill.” One whispered ominously.

“Where are the others?”

“What shall we do?”

“Do you think they are all dead?”

“Maybe it was a sickness. It would spread quickly on a ship.”

“Who will go aboard?”

“Not me. What if its cursed?”

“Oh stop, you louse.”

“We can't leave it in the harbor.”

They were so busy arguing that they did not see the slight, shadowed figure descend from the galley onto the rocks and sprint off into the growing night.

 

The young boy who they had tasked with feeding him was bored and naïve, a terrible combination, especially for one given such a dangerous job. He glowered at the thin little whip as he casually swung the key to the cell door around a knobby finger, barely paying any attention to the prisoner inside when he opened the iron bars and grabbed the mostly empty pewter tray. The boy never talked, never opened the bars fully, stretching just his stick-thin arm in as if he was some sort of wild beast who could take it off. Maybe he was.

“How are you liking your meals, Prince?” The sailors would holler when the boy returned with a fresh helping of the vomit-like gruel the ship's cook seemed to love making for him. He hid his simmering anger beneath a cool, emotionless veneer, biding his time, observing the boy from the shadows of his bunk each time he made an appearance.

“We'll be ready to set out to open sea soon.” He heard the ambassador saying from above him one morning, when the boy had not yet come and the tray and his bucket were festering in the early morning light. “Once there, it will be a straight course back to the Southern Isles.”

“Have you sent word to the King?” Someone asked in response.

“I considered it, but we will be reaching him in the same time it would take a courier to carry a message. It will be an unfortunate surprise, I'm sure, but...”

When the boy came, he met him at the door and stood between him and the tray.

“Move, you dog.” The boy growled pathetically.

“I'm not finished. You'll come back later.”

“You're finished when I say you're finished.” But the boy didn't move or dare place the key in the keyhole.

“I said come back later.” The boy attempted to stare him down but in the end, he sighed loudly, exasperatedly, and tucked the key back into his vest pocket.

“Whatever.” He watched him go before retreating back to the bunk, feeling the flat edge of his hidden blade deep within his boot. They hadn't found it when they'd thrown him into the Arendelle dungeons. They'd been so eager to make a show of throwing him onto the boat that they didn't bother checking him then either. Their mistake was his gain and he would be sure to make the most of it. When the sailors had retired for dinner, he removed the little dagger from his sock and tucked it up beneath the thick cuff of his jacket. He moved the tray and his bucket beside the bunk to the opposite side of the door and waited.

The boy came back later in the evening, when the sun was just going down beneath the flat horizon of the calm ocean. He whistled as he walked, a shrill, high-pitched sound that annoyed him.

“Are you ready now, your Majesty?” The boy sneered. He looked for the tray and frowned, finding it not in its usual place. “Hey, move that back.”

“No. I'm resting.” He said, laying on his back and staring up at the molding wood ceiling.

“I said-”

“I heard what you said.”

“Then do as I say.” He scoffed and turned his head, letting the boy see his eyes drift close.

“Do your job and leave me be. I'm tired.” The boy made no move, no sound, and then he heard the iron key in the keyhole and he hid his smirk behind a yawn. He heard the boy move inside carefully. The pewter tray scraped against the floor as he took hold of it. It made an even louder pang when he sprung up from his bunk and buried the dagger into the boy's neck. The pitiful thing bucked against him and the blade in his flesh, but it only took a few seconds for him to go still and limp in his arms.

He draped the body onto his bunk, throwing the meager blanket they provided him up and over the corpse. Ripping the key from his pocket, he closed and locked the door, then tucked himself below deck, in the shadowed corner just outside the sailor's quarters. They whooped from the galley, sucking down their base ales and singing lewd songs. Someone was playing a harmonica and another man was singing, loud and terribly, about mermaids. The festivities didn't seem to be quieting anytime soon. But he was a patient man. Waiting, curled up like a stowaway between spare barrels of salted pork and grain, he methodically cleaned the dagger of the boy's blood with the white of his gloves.

When the last sailor had retired, drunkenly stumbling to his cot, he discarded the bloodied gloves behind the barrels and stalked quietly into the little room where thirteen men snored and grunted in their sleep. He moved from bed to bed, killing swiftly and silently, slitting throats while covering their gaping, fish mouths with his pocket square. Even the biggest and strongest of them was no match in their inebriated slumber. They were like dogs, sated and sleepy from the hunt, unaware of the predator crawling between them until it was too late. He surveyed his gruesome work appraisingly, jumping slightly when someone coughed from an adjacent room.

The first mate was hovering over a bucket when he entered. His head was bowed, arms splayed out to either side of the small room, as he retched. It smelled of barley beer and pork. A wave of disgust ran through him when the man wiped his mouth with his bare arm and leaned back, snorting loudly and spitting a thick wad on the floor beside the bucket. It was almost pleasurable ramming the dagger into the back of his skull and finally putting an end to his crude noises and mannerisms.

The only victims left were the ambassador and the captain. Both were awake in the captain's cabin, talking mutedly over the remains of their dinner. He smelled the exquisite scent of cooked chicken and he heard the tinkling of their wine glasses. There were times, back in his own kingdom, that he had listened into conversations much like this one. He had been small then, as pathetically weak as the boy he'd killed in his cell. His brothers were permitted to join their father and mother in the great hall when guests were present, but not him. He was forced to listen out in the hall, smelling the desserts they got to partake in, stomach grumbling for more than just cake. He gripped the handle of his dagger tightly, ghostly laughter ringing in his ears until he realized the chuckling was coming from the captain.

“I must say, I was not expecting this trip to be very exciting. Arendelle is a small kingdom. Who would have known what a powerful Queen it possesses?”

“It is my understanding that the late King and his wife hid her from the world to hone her powers.” The ambassador paused, the sounds of his gulping taking the place of his words. “They had not yet finished when they were lost at sea. Such a sad time. I knew him for many years. He was a wise ruler.”

“God rest his soul, then.”

“Aye. And may his daughters' reign be as prosperous as his own.” His eyes narrowed dangerously at their toast. He ran a bare thumb over the blade of his dagger, feeling the edge try to bite into the skin, as he thought of Arendelle's queen and its princess. His nose was still swollen from where she had hit him, knocked him clear off the boat. A surge of angry embarrassment overtook him and before he had realized it, he had dug the blade into his own finger.

“But, my, the hour has grown late. Forgive me for keeping you awake for so long.” There was the sound of a chair being pushed back. He snapped back to attention and readied the dagger, holding it close to his heart, and pressed himself tightly against the wall beside the cabin door.

“Not at all, sir. It was a pleasure to have your company for the evening. I should really check in with my mate, make sure we're still on course.”

“Good evening then. See you in the morning.” The cabin door opened, spilling bright yellow light out onto the deck. The ambassador, a thin man with a wiry mustache and beard, exited gracefully, his tall leather boots making soft sounds as he shut the door behind him. He fell upon him quickly and viciously a few paces from the cabin, smothering his cries into the crook of his elbow as he wrapped a strong arm around his head and began stabbing him over and over and over again. He couldn't be sure what blow eventually felled him. There were so many wounds in his neck and shoulder. By the time he was finished, his white jacket and shirt had turned a sickly crimson. He pulled the heavy weight of the man's body to the side and dropped him. The ambassador fell and bounced between the railing.

 

Killing the captain was just as easy, but just as bloody, and when he was the only living soul left on board, he realized with open distaste just how ruined his clothes were. Who knew killing people was such a messy business? He stole the ambassador's best cloak from his quarters, along with a few pouches of his gems and coins, before returning back to the helm. The sun was beginning to overtake the sky. The stars were slowing disappearing and the black abyss of the water around him was beginning to lighten to a deep navy. To his left, the jagged coast reached up, ready to catch the first rays of morning. He turned the helm towards the land, brown eyes watching blankly as the sails caught the breeze and the ship changed course towards the shore.

 

Now, back on land, he realized just what a precarious situation he was in. He had no idea where he was or where he was going. Blazing hot thoughts of revenge drove him north, but before long, away from the lighthouse and the lights of the village, he found he could no longer see where he was walking and he was forced to seek refuge until daylight could once more show him the way.

The night was cool. The blood and water dampening his clothes and cloak chilled him and he shivered against the grassy mound he'd stumbled upon. The light breeze didn't help, but the mound provided some shelter. At this point, he was used to freezing. The magical winter that had tantalizingly provided him a golden opportunity for a throne of his own was the coldest he had ever felt, but the fire of his ambition kept him warm against the snow and ice. That same fire would keep him warm now.

He sniffed through his swollen nose and gritted his teeth at the dull ache spreading across the bridge. Oh, how he burned at the thought of the royal sisters in Arendelle, the youngest especially. She had ruined everything. Even if word had not yet reached the Southern Isles, he was sure it would eventually. He would never be able to return, he would never be able to escape the clutches of his brothers, who would all vie for the honor of delivering him, dead or alive, to his father and righting the wrongs he had perpetrated in Arendelle. How had such a stupid girl gotten the better of him? He clenched his fists in the woolen cloak and swore at himself for not watching her freeze to death in the first place. If he had just been a little more thorough, if only he could have shown the bold resolve he'd shown on the ship, he'd be wearing a crown instead of a stolen, sullied cowl.

“What do you think you're doing, _drittsek_?” He started out of his dark reverie, looking wide-eyed around the clearing and the sudden blue light radiating from behind him. His shadow, long and wavering, crept over the distant trunks of trees and a few other mounds and the crosses plunged into their grassy swells. He turned quickly, stumbling to his feet at the sight of the woman hovering above him.

Perhaps she could no longer be called a woman. He could still recognize her as such, but her body was shrunken and skeletal and not at all womanly. The harsh bones of her ribs stood out against the tightly stretched blueness of her skin. Her face looked pulled, as if someone had torn at her lips and eyes and tautly secured the flesh so that her teeth were constantly bared and the wide, glowing whites of her eyes always watching. The plain dress that hung from her bony frame was singed and stained, as if smeared with charcoal, and she held the tattered skirt tightly in her boney, claw-tipped hands.

“I asked you a question!” She hissed, stepping forward from the mound. Fear rose within him as she grew taller and wider with each step until she towered over him, a supernatural giantess. Thick spittle dropped from her open mouth as she impatiently regarded him. For a moment, he considered running. He took a hesitant step back, wincing when the action drew an eager wheeze from the wraith. On instinct, he fell to his knees, bowing low against her visage.

“Forgive me, my lady. It was dark, I wasn't aware where I was.”

“It is not within a draugr's nature to forgive.” She growled menacingly, licking her teeth with a long, cracked tongue. “I can only hate and loathe and envy! I will devour you whole, foolish prince, and suck your bones until another comes to rest upon my tomb!” She dipped closer, her foul breath filling his nostrils, but he was nothing if not clever. He remembered the frightening tales his brothers had told him by a low fire, their eyes filled with bitter mirth as they relayed horrifying details of the creatures waiting in the wilds to gobble up children, to kill whomever they could find.

“Wait, my lady, please. Before you take me, allow me to look upon your beauty once more.”

“Kjøter, løgner, there is no beauty left in me.” But she had stopped her advancement and her size had lessened somewhat. He raised his head hesitantly, fixing his gaze upon her bare feet with blackened toes missing their nails.

“That isn't true!”

“Oh, I was beautiful once.” She said disdainfully. He wasn't sure if she was speaking to him or herself. “So beautiful, in fact, that I could have had any man I wanted. Even you, little prince.” She reached out and caught his chin in her death-cold hand, yanking his face up to hers so that he was mere inches from her hollowed features.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” He swallowed thickly.

“Yes, I would have had you.” The draugr released her hold and stepped away, returning to the size she had been when first they met. She cocked her head slowly, watching him closely as he rose to his feet. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of his bloody apparel. “But my, you are a dangerous one, aren't you?” There was a strange tone to her voice now as she regarded him.

“Only to those who wrong me. Perhaps we have that in common.” She scoffed and turned away, back towards her grave.

“If only I would have gotten my hands on that little wretch. The simpering idiot died before I found a way out of the hole they shoved me in.” Her words were venomous. The blue glow about her flared and brightened the little cemetery even more until it seemed like early morning instead of late night. Not a creature stirred beyond the draugr and her trail of white hair and ash.

“Tell me what happened.”

“They killed me, idiot!” She roared, spinning towards him and holding up her burnt hands. “Burned me at the stake like some damned witch! They couldn't bear to think he wanted me, lusted after me. That prude of a wife couldn't give him what he wanted but I could and she just couldn't bear the thought of him laying with me, filling me with child.” A strangled moan escaped her lips as she began to stumble around, scratching at her neck, at the collar of her blackened dress.

“She was just a stupid woman. I could have been a princess, I could have, our child could have ruled, I would have been a beautiful princess...” He watched, eyes widening as the draugr continued to moan and keen, her body jumping as she grew and shrunk, dimmed and brightened, her emotions straining the decrepit remains of her body.

“You can still be a beautiful princess.” He said before he was even aware of what he was saying. The draugr halted suddenly, her brow furrowing as she growled low and deep.

“Do not mock me. I will eat you yet, _tosk_.”

“Listen to me first. If you don't like what I have to say, then you may eat me.” The draugr considered this for a long moment, then nodded.

“Alright. Speak quickly.”

“It may be too late to avenge yourself against the foolish cow who killed you, but you can still exact vengeance against an equally deserving princess.”

“Oh, can I now?” She said in a faint voice.

“Indeed. A selfish girl-”

“An innocent girl.” The draugr hissed between clenched teeth. She drew closer, running a hand through his dirty hair, the nails catching lightly, but painfully, on his scalp. “Oh, I see what happened, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles. I can see inside your little black heart.” Each word was emphasized with a slight tightening of her grip until he found himself struggling to stay on his feet.

“But-”

“You are the selfish one. But, I understand selfishness. I understand hunger and want. I can appreciate a man who isn't afraid to make what he wants his.” She leaned into him, wrapping her free arm around his waist, and holding him tight to her putrid body.

“I'll give you anything in exchange for a single curse.”

“A curse? Not death, then? I can grant either.” But something cruel and excited flashed within her luminous eyes. Hans felt more frightened than he ever had before, caught in the draugr's snares.

“If I am to suffer, so should she.” He finally said.

“So be it.” The draugr crushed her mouth against his, pressing the rotten teeth against his lips. He kissed her back just as fervently, embracing his doom with both arms as she dragged him back to her mound.

**Author's Note:**

> Hoping to get this little idea done in three sections. I've been playing with the idea of being 'born or cursed' with powers and the idea of the draugr, which sounds like a terrifying but really, really interesting Norwegian mythological creature. And yes, I went full evil with Hans because why not? Gotta get the dark-fic out sometime between all the Kristanna fluff. 
> 
> PS: Please forgive the few Norwegian words if they're incorrect. I did my best.


End file.
